A Man of Feeling and a Storyteller
by Adusiriel
Summary: At the risk of sounding cliche: Wendy returns to Neverland and is once more entranced with Captain Hook, who becomes very confused at her sudden attention to him as well as her grownup nature. WendyHook. Please R&R, and enjoy! T for safety.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - Hi, everyone! Welcome to my first Peter Pan fic - I hope you enjoy what I've done with it. Feel free to leave comments with constructive criticism (and hey, I'm not above it, flattery is appreciated as well grin ); I'll love you forever!**

**--Adusiriel****_  
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**_A Man of Feeling and a Storyteller_ - Chapter One**

Wendy woke up quite often, either because her alarm clock went off, or for no reason at all, or because she thought hopefully that she had heard someone in the room. Tonight, though, she was _sure_ that someone had entered her room.

Instead of the usual fright felt by a woman with an unknown intruder in her room, Wendy felt only excitement. Her eyes closed as she listened to the patter of a boy's feet crossing the wooden floor and the pad as they walked on the rag rug she had made from an old dress of her mother's.

"Wendy?" came a boy's voice from above the bed.

A hesitant smile curved her lips as she opened her eyes and gazed at the boy hovering above her, for it was Peter Pan. He had (finally) come for her, and her only fear now lay in the fact that she had grown old in his absence.

Oh, she wasn't _really_ old – Wendy had just had her eighteenth birthday a few months ago. On that day, she had moved away from her parents and come to a very modern university which accepted women into its ranks. She studied writing and story telling, and had gotten top marks in her first term.

"Peter," she said, smiling as his name passed her lips. "I knew you would come."

"Of course I did," Peter replied, looking scandalized that she could have thought anything else. "What did you expect?"

"Your memory isn't always the best, dear," Wendy said with a grin. "The number of times I had to remind you to change your socks can't be counted."

Peter glared at her. "Socks aren't important right now," he said. "I need to see you. Did you keep up your end of the bargain?"

Now came the part Wendy had dreaded for many years. What would Peter say once he saw her face, her clothes, her body, her eyes? "As well as I could," she murmured, leaning out of bed and striking a match so she could light the lamp.

She climbed out of bed without facing Peter. Once her feet touched the cold floor, she eased herself around apprehensively and screwed her eyes shut so that he might at least be spared the sight of her aged eyes, at least at first.

Peter's gasp and screech would echo in her mind for years to come: "Urgh! Wendy, what have you done? You . . . you lied to me!"

"No," she pleaded. "Let me explain, please -"

But Peter's face had gone stony and his shoulders straightened. A closed look came into his eyes, and his mouth tightened as he tried to hide the betrayal. "It doesn't matter," he stated. "I don't need you. I don't need anyone. I am Peter Pan."

"Exactly," Wendy sighed. She thought: _Little do you know . . . I believe you felt love, even if you denied it._

Peter turned to leave, the rough soles of his feet rasping against the windowsill as he climbed up. "Good-bye, Wendy," he said.

"Do you still like stories?" Wendy asked on impulse. Somehow, she couldn't bear to see him leave her, even though she knew it as good as useless to try to make him stay.

His foot slipped slightly, or maybe Wendy simply imagined it, but she pressed onwards. "I know some great ones," she said coaxingly. "Since I saw you last, I have gone to school for the sole purpose of learning stories. Did I ever tell you about Beauty and the Beast?"

"Noo," Peter said unwillingly.

"Would you like to hear?" Wendy asked.

Peter paused to consider carefully, his head cocked to one side thoughtfully. "Perhaps I could take you with me, just this once," he said.

"I don't know if I could go," Wendy said, trying not to smile. "I wouldn't want people to worry . . ." she trailed into silence, waiting for his reaction.

"Then I will leave."

"Then you will never learn the story," Wendy pointed out.

"I don't care!" Peter said petulantly. "I can find someone else to tell me."

"Let's face it," Wendy said. "Anybody who acknowledges the fact that a small, arrogant, flying boy has come into their rooms, asking to be told a story, would have him carted off to school straight away. No, that simply won't work."

Peter rose into the air, crossed his arms, and sulked for a few minutes. After deciding to speak to Wendy again, he decided, "I suppose I could come back in a few days,"

"But Peter," Wendy pressed, "You said before that you would come see me every Spring, and it has been many years. Who knows? You might do the same thing again."

"Never!" Peter crowed. "I have an impeccable memory; you know that."

"Right," Wendy said dryly. "I would feel a lot better if you could stay here with me, just until tomorrow night. Then we can both go to Neverland."

"Wendy," Peter said. "You are still old."

"Only on the outside. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to sleep. Unlike _some people_," she said with a tinge of jealousy. He had no idea how his inexplicable constant wakefulness would have helped her during exam time. "Make yourself at home," she said, waving a hand at the window seat.

As she drifted off into happy sleep, she saw Peter lift the lid of the window box and pull all the contents onto the floor: blocks, bears, trains, and a very battered doll in a faded pink dress.

---

Once Wendy woke up in the morning, she fed Peter and herself breakfast and then made arrangements so that her sudden disappearance wouldn't trouble anybody. She spent the rest of the day telling Peter story after story: she read most of the time, but sometimes, she improvised a story while Peter acted it out.

Night fell around 7:00, and Wendy fixed dinner for the two of them. Peter ate energetically while Wendy shoved a few last-minute items into a sack she planned to take with her. A few minutes later, Peter had shaken faerie-dust over Wendy and they left for Neverland, flying at top speed through the sky.

Peter seemed particularly anxious to return home, though Wendy could not figure out why. Perhaps he was worried about the Lost Boys, but since when did Peter care about the well-being of others? Maybe he just wanted to take another swing at killing Captain Hook, but that being an every-day event, she doubted it.

Wendy couldn't tell how long it took for them to arrive, but when she saw the brilliant colors of the flowers in Neverland, she felt completely at home. "Oh, this is even more beautiful then I remember it!" she exclaimed happily.

Peter shrieked with laughter and dived through the forest and through a hole in the ground. Wendy, a slightly more cautious individual, drifted slowly through the trees, drinking everything in, before gliding smoothly through the hole in the ground.

She found herself in the Underground Home where she had presided all those years ago, complete with a dozen grimy boys brawling on the floor. Peter had joined in excitedly, she noticed, and was currently squashed underneath two kicking bodies.

"Who are you?" came a curious voice from behind her.

Wendy jumped, surprised that anybody had chosen to sit out the fight. "The same might be asked of you," she said, grinning. "I never expected Peter to actually allow a boy here who didn't feel the need to fight with your friends at the slightest chance."

"I'm Sophie," the girl said informatively. She looked to be about six years old, with brown hair and eyes and a studious expression.

"I'm Wendy," said Wendy.

"I have heard all about you," she said accusingly.

"Oh?" Wendy replied.

"You're the story teller," Sophie said as though nothing could be worse.

_That's all_? Wendy thought. "That would be me, yes. Is that such a bad thing?"

"No," she said hotly. "That would be _me_." Sophie stood up, crossed the room, and flew out of the hole in the roof, glaring at her the entire time.

Wendy sat in the newly vacated seat and wondered exactly what that had been all about. After several minutes, she heard Slightly's voice rise above the noise of brawling. "Hey! It's Wendy!"

A few hours later, after the Lost Boys had all thoughtfully punched her in welcome and clamored to be told the story of _Cinderella_, Peter had called for bed. Slightly, informative as always, gave Wendy directions to her house.

Unfortunately, due to either Slightly's bad directions ("Go that-a-way at the tree . . . you can't miss it, miss!" or the rather annoying tendency the island had of rearranging itself, Wendy found herself completely lost not five minutes after she left the Underground Home.

"Blast," she muttered, stomping through the marshy grass. Her hair got caught on a particularly thorny bush, and she stopped, attempting to eradicate herself.

Before she could achieve her goal, however, something hard connected with her skull and Wendy slipped into a painful unconsciousness.

_Words: 1522_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - You guys are awesome! Thanks for reviewing. I really appreciate it:) Here's the second chapter; I've gotten things drafted through Chapter 04, so if I keep getting reviews . . . Who knows what could happen? ((grins))**

**--Adusiriel_  
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**_A Man of Feeling and a Storyteller - _Chapter 2**

Wendy heard a rough voice shouting, "You incompetant girl!", groaned, and wished that she could have stayed unconscious.

"Well . . . well . . ." a young female voice searched for a good retort, "You're ugly!" The voice sounded vaguely familiar to Wendy, but she couldn't quite place it. She winced, as her head still hurt and the voice wasn't exactly soothing.

"I," the man's voice commented gruffly, "am Captain James Hook. If you know what's best for you, you will cease this infernal racket before you walk the plank."

"_And_ you smell funny!" the girl's voice shouted as if this was the ultimate insult, her voice rising in pitch and volume while decreasing in tonal quality.

"Smee!" Captain Hook yelled. "Remove this girl instantly, if you please."

"Girl?! I am no _girl_! I am a _lady_! And you are not!" Wendy heard the woman's voice protesting as it grew fainter with distance.

"Delusional," muttered Captain Hook.

"Who _was_ that, and why did she inform you that you are not a girl?" Wendy inquired curiously.

Captain Hook visibly jumped, and then tried to cover it by stretching luxuriously. "That," he answered, "was my latest plan for Pan's demise. Apparently she tells rather good tales, but he doesn't like her at all. Though I can't say I blame him," Hook muttered, glaring at the door Smee had hauled the girl through.

Wendy smiled. "Neither can I. I didn't think girls could come here, though," she said accusingly.

"You did," Captain Hook pointed out. He shook his head, finally realizing that Wendy had awoken and that he had been talking to her for several minutes, glared at her, and said dramatically, "Now I have you in my clutches!!"

"Oh, whatever shall I do?" Wendy commented.

Hook had just begun laughing in a properly sinister fashion when noticed her lack of enthusiasm. He glared at her again. "I kidnapped you," he said petulantly. "I have you, here! You cannot escape!"

"Whyever would I like to do that?" Wendy inquired.

"Aha!" Hook said triumphantly. "You used to want to become a pirate yourself, did you not? 'Red-Handed Jill,' if I remember correctly, eh?"

"Eh," Wendy agreed. She sat up in bed and slung her legs over the edge, wincing as her head throbbed painfully. "What posessed you to hit me?" she grimaced.

Hook looked confused. "What else could I have done?"

"Um. Well. Recently, it has become common practice to issue invitations if you want to see somebody. I would have accepted, I assure you," Wendy assured him.

Hook mumbled something, and Wendy spent the next ten seconds staring blankly at him, trying to figure out what he had just said. When she had made quite sure that she didn't know, she said, "Repeat that, please, and more clearly."

"I can't read or write," mumbled Hook.

"Smee can," Wendy pointed out. "I know, because he made me a sign to hang above my door when I lived here years ago. It said 'Beware the Storyteller' on it, though I wanted it to say 'Welcome to the Storyteller's Home' on it, but he didn't feel that quite covered the power of stories properly, and I'm rambling now, aren't I?"

"Yes," Hook agreed.

Wendy waited expectantly for him to answer her implied question. It turned out that she waited in vain, so she inquired pointedly: "Why didn't you ask Smee?"

"I am not in the habit of issuing invitations!" roared Captain Hook irritably. He then spent a few minutes fiercely digging his hook into various bits of woodwork, hoping to frighten Wendy into submission or at least distract her from her absurd questions.

After his outburst, Wendy said, "Well?"

Hook glared at her. Did this girl never learn? "Be quiet, girl," he snarled. "You know nothing."

"Ah. That would be why you can't answer my question," she said politely. "That makes perfect sense."

Wendy stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of Hook, who stood stunned at her reaction. Nobody, _nobody_, could ask him a question which he couldn't answer – unless, of course, they died very soon afterwards. Ironically enough, they usually were mysteriously stabbed with a hook.

"I'll just be going now," Wendy continued. "Unless there was something you wished to discuss . . ."

"No," Hook said gruffly.

"Right," said Wendy with a tinge of sarcasm, "because I'm sure you kidnap people for absolutely no reason on a regular basis." She then realized that she had just said that to Captain James Hook, the most deadly pirate in the history of Neverland, and repressed the urge to cringe and beg for mercy.

"My dear girl," Hook said incredulously, "this is _Neverland_. And I am a _pirate_. You think I need a reason?"

Wendy considered this carefully. "No," she said at last. "I don't suppose you do. Still, in the future, at least give me some warning or something. I don't appreciate being knocked unconscious. Good-day," she waved as she left the room.

Hook sat slowly down on his bed. That had not gone at all as planned; initially, he had in mind discussing things condescendingly with a timid, sniffling, remorseful Wendy who believed every word he said. This new, grown up Wendy had thrown him off balance, and he didn't know what to do about it.

---

Wendy flew back to the Underground Home. Since she couldn't find her permanent place of residence, she supposed that she had better sleep there. First off, it was warmer - the air grew colder as Peter slept - and secondly, she knew exactly who lived there and wasn't afraid of them.

If truth be told, her encouter with Captain Hook had been a slight let-down. All her stories told of a man, ferocious and dramatic, and true, he had been those, but she had also supposed him to be _intelligent_. That dream had just crashed down around her ears. Any man stupid enough to think kidnapping a nice way of seeing somebody needed some help with his social skills.

She came to the Underground Home and flew quietly down into the main room. Boys had draped themselves everywhere: over the table, on chairs, on the floor, and someone had even taken up residence on the mantel piece. She would definitely have to do something about the chaos within, but not tonight.

Wendy settled down on the floor and slept.

---

The instant Peter woke up, he crowed, and the seemingly constant brawl continued. The Lost Boys, before so much as rubbing the grime from their eyes, threw themselves at each other, giving each other greetings.

Wendy sat up, rubbed her eyes, and wished that everyone would be quieter. However, as she couldn't make anybody be quiet, she instead looked around for breakfast. She didn't see any.

"Peter?" she asked, pulling him out of the fighting boys. "I'll make breakfast if you'll show me what I can use."

Curly's head emerged under Slightly's arm and he grinned up at Wendy. "You mean that you'll actually . . . _cook_ . . . for us?"

Wendy, deciding that she could get no better answer for the moment, nodded and went off in search of breakfast. Before she got far, she saw Sophie sitting alone in a corner, her little arms wrapped around herself. "Good morning," Wendy said kindly.

Sophie glared at her.

"How are you doing today?" Wendy inquired.

Sophie heaved a great sigh, as though Wendy had asked her some deeply personal question.

Wendy waited a few seconds for her answer, and then made another brave stab at conversation. "How long have you been here?"

"I don't know," Sophie muttered.

Encouraged, Wendy asked, "You're the new story-teller, aren't you?"

"Yes," Sophie admitted grudgingly.

"Oh, that position was so much fun. How are you enjoying it?"

"No need to patronize me," Sophie snapped.

Wendy felt surprise, and then a sudden stabbing anger. "Patronize? I do not _patronize_, my dear. I am simply making conversation as all civilized people do."

"Go away," Sophie said, jutting her lower lip out in a pout.

"No. I need to look in the cabinet you happen to be sitting in," Wendy pointed out.

Sophie gave Wendy a look that should have made her shrivel up and die. Wendy smiled blandly back as Sophie slid out of the cabinet and brushed past her.

"Good grief, did I harm her in another life or something?" Wendy murmured to herself.

"No," said Curly, who had come over in the hopes of food. "She doesn't like you because Peter likes you. I think she might be jealous."

"How stupid!" Wendy said, shocked. "Peter and I go back a long way; that's all . . . though I'm not entirely sure he remembers that very often."

"Yes, exactly. Aha!" Curly exclaimed as he came across a basket full of eggs. Soon afterwards, Wendy had made breakfast, and everyone settled down to eat.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A Man of Feeling and a Storyteller - Chapter 3_**

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As they ate, Slightly (ever the gentleman) asked Wendy politely, "How did you sleep last night?"

Wendy, busy looking introspectively at her thoughts, blinked as she realized he had asked her a question. She replayed it in her mind before replying, "Very well, thank you. How about you?"

"Oh, not bad, not bad," Slightly said arily. "I think Curly knocked me out again, but otherwise the night was thoroughlly uneventful."

Wendy chuckled. She ate a few bits of breakfast and then asked, "So, what do you have planned for today?"

"Adventures!" Peter cried, having overheard her question. "We shall kill Hook today!"

At this superb choice of the day's activities, the Lost Boys broke into cheers; they lept up from the table and scampered out of the Underground Home, leaving Wendy alone to clean up the mess.

Sighing, she surveyed the destruction. Plates of half-eaten food sat around the table, and it looked as though somebody had spit all over his so as to make sure that nobody would touch it except for the owner himself. Somebody else had apparently forgone the use of a plate entirely - a damp pile of scrambled eggs lay on the table, a fork in the middle of them.

"Oh dear," she sighed, sensing a long day ahead.

Wendy worked all day. It seemed like an absurdly long day, to her mind, though possibly it was just her choice of activities that made it so. She wiped and scrubbed and swept the Underground Home, erradicating all manner of fungi and mold from the cupboards and unearthing a wooden floor.

After what seemed like an age, she finally felt satisfied with the cleanliness of the cabinets and floor, and looked around for a new project to tackle. Her eyes roamed, flitting towards the dark corners of the room, and then she saw it: an immense pile of bedding.

"Oh, good," she murmured to herself. "It was cold last night; I saw Slightly shivering. This should help." She crossed the room and lifted up the top layers of the blankets. The stench was almost unbearable, and she suppressed her natural gag reflex as she gathered the bedding into her arms to wash.

Wendy lugged it outdoors to the stream, along with a few pieces of lye soap and a washboard. She tucked her skirt into her waistband, removed her shoes and stockings, and rolled up her sleeves, preparing to attack the mountain of unwashed laundry which loomed before her.

About three hours later, she had finished. Every piece of linen was clean and drying over bushes, and her back ached like she had never felt it ache before, not even after she had scrubbed her entire flat down in one day. Wendy stretched her sore muscles, placing one hand in the small of her back.

A shriek of, "Hey, man! Leave me alone!" echoed through the woods, and Wendy blinked. She could have sworn that was a woman's voice, but that wasn't possible.

"I, girlie, am Captain James Hook," declared Hook loudly.

"I don't care if you're God himself, you can just put me right back where you found me," she said.

"I could," Hook agreed, "But _I don't want to_, do I?"

The voice - which Wendy positively identified as female - used some words which Wendy didn't understand and doubted that she wanted to.

Hook stalked out of the forest into the tiny clearing, a young woman slung over his shoulder. He stopped short when he saw Wendy, emmitted a very rude word, and backed up hastily.

"No, stay here," Wendy implored.

Hook glared at her.

The woman over his shoulder managed to get an arm around his neck and he spluttered incoherently as her arms choked him. She kicked him squarely on the shin and dashed away, mumbling to herself. Unfortunately, she spent most of her brain-power in relief and none of it watching where she was going, with the result that she ended up in the creek, completely drenched in cool water.

"This is wet," she noticed.

Hook, massaging his throat, fixed the woman with a stare that made Wendy want to cower and die, but had no effect on the soaking wet woman.

"Hey," she said vaguely to Wendy. "Peace and love, girl. Peace and love."

Wendy coughed politely, trying to think of something intelligent to say. This failing, she greeted the woman. "Good afternoon," she said, extending a hand to help her up.

The woman grasped her hand and stood up, wringing out her sodden shirt. "Thanks," she said.

"You're welcome," said Wendy, happy at finally understanding something she said. She addressed Hook: "Why is she here?"

Hook looked distinctly shifty. "No particular reason," he said.

Wendy raised her eyebrows at him. "Is this a back-up plan?" she inquired.

"No!" Hook denied brusquely. "This is . . ." he looked puzzled, "Actually, I never asked her name. You, girl," he said to the woman. "Who are you?"

"Amy," the girl said. "You?"

"I'm Wendy," said Wendy, "and this is - "

"Nobody," Hook said quickly.

"Captain Hook," Wendy finished, ignoring his protests.

"Oh, hey, like from Peter Pan! Cool. I love that story, man," Amy said happily. Wendy wondered why Amy kept calling her a man, but decided that not thinking about it was safer for her mental well-being.

Wendy picked up the washboard, climbed from the stream, and frowned at Hook. "He won't ever want her," she informed him. "The only reason he ever liked me was for my stories."

"_Love_ stories," Hook reminded her. "You will garner his affections or I'll plunge my hook in you," he added to Amy, feeling the need to threaten someone.

"Oh, I'm all about love. I love everyone, man," Amy said contentedly.

"You see? No difficulties at all," Hook told Wendy confidently.

Wendy shrugged and gestured at Amy with the washboard. "Come on," she said. "I think some new clothing would be in order."

As Amy clambered out of the stream, Wendy came closer to Hook and whispered, "Can we talk later about why you suddenly decided to bring a very ill-dressed female to Neverland, Captain?"

Hook looked absolutely astonished at her nerve. "You dare to talk to me!" he hissed.

"Well, yes," Wendy said patiently. "You barged into _my_ clearing while I was doing _my_ laundry and began conducting a shouting match with a very dreamy woman. I think I have every right to discuss the matter with you."

Hook turned on his heel and stalked out of the clearing just as Amy clambered clumsily from the stream bed.

"Let's go," muttered Wendy. She took flight and went through the hole in the ground, followed by Amy after many hesitations and muttered exclamations.

---

Wendy offered Amy some tea (which she refused, saying that she only drank organic green tea) and then gave her extra dress which she had brought from home. Amy disappeared behind a curtain to change, and Wendy quickly donned her own dry dress and waited for Amy, wanting to talk to her.

When Amy didn't appear for over fifteen minutes, Wendy went to investigate. She discovered her behind a curtain, struggling to fit her head through the arm hole of the dress. Wendy helped her on with it, wondering why Amy didn't already know how to dress herself, and then the two women talked.

"What exactly happened to bring you here?" Wendy inquired, genuinely curious.

Amy sighed. "I'm not sure," she said. "I was with my friends, we were out at a party, and I don't really remember very much."

Wendy suppressed an aggrieved sigh and tried to not roll her eyes. Did nobody pay any attention to their surroundings anymore? "Do you remember being taken?" she asked instead.

"Nope," Amy replied positively. "I think I went unconscious at one point, but I'm not too sure."

"Ah," Wendy said. "Why were you dressed so oddly?"

Amy gave her a very strange look. "I wasn't. _These_ are strange pieces of clothing, man," she said, gesturing to her current attire.

"Noo . . ." Wendy protested. "Women do _not_ wear pants. We wear dresses."

"Not since forever, girl," Amy said, varying her name of choice, much to Wendy's relief. She could deal with being called "girl," but "man" was harder to bear. Perhaps Peter felt this way sometimes.

"Um," said Wendy, showing her great intellect. She decided to move on to a more sane conversation topic, and asked, "Do you remember coming here at all?"

Amy looked at her, surprised. "I haven't gone anywhere," she said. "I'm just unconscious. This is all from the drugs, dude, didn't you know?"

"No," Wendy said exasperatedly. "I'm not even quite sure what you're talking about."

"Well," Amy said soothingly, "That is a side-effect sometimes."

"I don't think so," Wendy said. "I live in London in the 19th century, and I'm positive that I have lived there almost my entire life, except for a few months when I was a little girl."

"Oh," Amy said. "Inventing histories . . . I've never done that, dude. Unless my entire life has been my imagination. Awesome."

Wendy barely suppressed the urge to scream. She decided that this day could be very, very long indeed.

_Words: 1552_


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